


You found me at my lowest, when I needed you the most

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Blood and Injury, Hurt, Hurt Derek, Hurt Derek Hale, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Derek Hale, Injury, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, M/M, Nemeton, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: There haven’t been wolves in Beacon Hills for sixty years, but Stiles finds one; a lone, feral wolf, injured and in need of help.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 23
Kudos: 590





	You found me at my lowest, when I needed you the most

The wolf clung to the shadows as he wove through the undergrowth, limping as he dragged his wounded leg behind him. His thick black fur was slick with blood; ruby-red droplets falling among the dry autumn leaves.

Searing pain overwhelmed him, his mind growing foggy as he collapsed to the ground. He fell onto the cushion of damp leaves and piles of rotting flesh which littered the forest floor.

He lifted his head, looking around at the forest. The usual autumn tones of brown, gold and red were darkened by the night, now a dreary mix of greys and heavy black shadows. Dense foliage hung overhead, filtered streams of silver light surrounded him seeping through the canopy and dancing across the ground.

Among the darkness he could make out the fluorescent bleached skeletons of the birch trees, their slender trunks lining the shadows as eye-like rings watched him from all angles.

His eyes grew heavy, his head resting against the twisted root of a large stump of an ancient tree that looked as if it had been cut down decades ago, the cracks and crevices full of moss and twiggy shrubs.

He felt so weak, so cold.

He let his eyes fall shut, his body weakening as the darkness crept in, pulling him down into oblivion.

Stiles felt the cool autumn air bite at his cheeks as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He dragged his feet through the dew-dampened grass as he stepped out of the parking lot of the reserve and passed the metal railings that fenced it off, glistening with crystal-like droplets of water that clung to them as they caught the light of the rising sun.

He wandered down the track that wove through the woods on the outskirts of town.

He just needed a moment to get away from it all; he just needed a moment to himself.

He breathed in the sweet scent of the damp earth, walking further and further into the reserve.

It looked different in the fall. The grass was brown and dying, the wild flowers had wilted, and the trees were stripped of their leaves, covering the ground in a blanket of brown, yellow, red and gold. It was different, but still beautiful.

He came upon a small clearing, his feet falling still as his eyes fell upon the large tree stump in the centre of the open space. He’d walked the same path almost every day for years, but he had never seen it before.

The stump looked to be centuries old, but felled a long time ago. The twisted roots were buried deep in the ground, cracks and crevices of the aged bark were filled with green moss. Small brushes grew between the roots, their branches bare, twisted, wiry and dry.

But it was what lay among the roots that made his blood run cold in his veins.

The dark shape lay still, its body cradled in the curve of the twisted roots. The thick black fur was matted and damp from the morning dew.

Stiles took a step forward, cautiously edging closer to the figure to get a closer look and confirm his suspicions; it was a wolf.

“Why didn’t you find a den?” Stiles whispered, more so to himself than the wolf. “And what are you doing here?”

He knelt down on the blanket of damp, decaying leaves and watched as the wolf’s chest rose and fell with weak breaths.

 _He’s still alive_ , Stiles thought, breathing out a sigh of relief.

His eyes were drawn to the wolf’s hind leg where his ash-black fur was darker than the rest of his body, clumped together and stained with a slick substance.

Stiles carefully reached out, touching his fingertips to the wolf’s wet fur. They came away slick. He slowly turned his hand around to look at his fingers.

Red.

Blood.

Stiles’ eyes flew open wide. He wiped his hand on his jeans and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone as he scrolled through his contacts and pressed ‘call’.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Stiles muttered impatiently.

Scott answered on the fourth ring, his voice slow and lethargic. “Stiles? Do you know what time it is?”

“I need your help,” Stiles said hastily. “This is going to sound insane but there’s an injured wolf in the reserve.”

“Stiles, there aren’t any wolves in Beacon Hills,” Scott replied. “It’s probably a stray dog.”

“I know there aren’t any wolves in Beacon Hills, and there hasn’t been for over sixty years, but I’m telling you, I’m looking at one right now and he’s hurt,” Stiles snapped, growing impatient. “He needs help. Scott, please.”

Scott let out an impatient sigh. Stiles heard him shuffling about, shoving back the blankets and getting out of bed. “What do you mean he’s hurt?”

“His leg’s bleeding,” Stiles replied. “It looks like he’s been in a fight, or shot, or maybe he stepped in a fox trap or something—I don’t know. The important thing to note is that he’s bleeding heavily and he’s not moving.”

“Is it alive?”

“He’s breathing,” Stiles answered. “But he’s asleep.”

“Okay, I’ll come to the reserve and help you move him,” Scott said. “I’ll call Deaton and let him know we’re bringing in a—”

“A wolf,” Stiles confirmed.

“—a wolf,” Scott conceded. “I’ll be here in a few minutes. Call me if he wakes up in the meantime.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed. He felt the knot of tension in his chest subside a bit, his voice softening as he added, “Scotty?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Scott said before hanging up.

Stiles slid the phone back into his jacket pocket and sat down beside the wolf. He let out a steady breath, slowly reaching out and set his hand down on the wolf’s side. He felt his hand rise and fall with the slow, steady breaths.

The wolf’s ears twitched slightly, but his eyes didn’t open.

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Stiles said softly, threading his fingers through the wolf’s soft, damp fur, “but if you can, I’m going to get you help.”

There was a loud crack as a stick broke underfoot behind him.

Stiles spun around, his eyes wide as he searched the woods that were lit by the dim morning light.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, moving faster among the underbrush.

Stiles rose to his feet, standing defensively over the wolf as he searched the shadows.

A familiar face appeared from among the trees.

Stiles let out a sigh of relief as Scott stepped into the clearing, a satchel slung over one shoulder as he hurried over to Stiles’ side.

“How is he?” Scott asked, shrugging off the satchel and setting it down by the twisted roots.

“He still hasn’t woken up,” Stiles replied.

Scott took a quick look at the wound. He dug through his bag and pulled out wadding and bandages, packing the wound the best he could.

“Okay, help me carry him out of here,” Scott said, moving to lift the wolf off the ground. “Did you drive here?”

“No, I walked,” Stiles answered.

“Okay, we’ll take my car,” Scott said. He laid a large sheet across the forest floor. “Help me lift him onto the sheet and we’ll use it as a stretcher to carry him out of here.”

Stiles helped Scott move the wolf.

“God, you’re heavy,” Stiles grunted as they lifted the wolf off the blanket of damp leaves and onto the sheet.

They carried the wolf out of the woods and into the parking lot. They set him down for a moment so Scott could open the back of the four wheel drive.

“Climb in the back and we’ll lift him up,” Scott instructed.

“Wait, why am I getting in the back?”

“Because I need you to sit with him and tell me if there’s any change in his condition,” Scott answered.

“Wouldn’t it be better if you did and I drove?” Stiles asked. “I mean, if something changes, you could do something about it.”

Scott levelled him with an exasperated look. “Just get in the car.”

“Okay.”

Stiles clambered into the back of the four wheel drive, helping Scott lift the wolf into the back of the car and laying him down on the blankets Scott had laid out. He positioned himself near the wolf’s head, gently petting his scruff.

Scott closed the door and hurried around the car to the driver’s seat, starting the engine and reversing out of the parking lot.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stiles whispered, gently patting the wolf.

The wolf’s ears twitched slightly; listening.

“You’re going to be okay, I promise.”

Stiles stood in the corner of the operating room, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, trying to ignore the bitter, metallic smell of blood that filled his senses. He’d cast a few glances at where Scott and Deaton stood by the operating table, watching as the vet stitched up the wound.

They’d decided against putting him under anaesthesia; the wolf was already unconscious and unresponsive and in such a fragile state that he may not have woken up after surgery.

Stiles watched as the wolf lay still, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.

“All done,” Deaton said, setting down his tools and reaching for a bandage.

A patch of his raven-black fur had been shaved off, exposing his pale skin and the line of stitches that marked where they’d operated.

Deaton tenderly wrapped the bandage around his leg.

“What was wrong with him?” Stiles asked, taking a step closer.

“He was shot,” Deaton answered. “The bullet went through and through. He’s lucky it didn’t hit the bone; it would’ve broken his leg and he wouldn’t have gotten away from whoever shot him.”

Deaton looked over at Stiles.

“He’s lucky you found him when you did,” Deaton said. “He wouldn’t have survived if you hadn’t.”

Without warning, the wolf bolted upright with a start. He scrambled to his feet, standing atop the operating table and towering over them. He raised his hackles and pinned back his ears, baring his ivory-white teeth in a vicious snarl. He snapped at Deaton and Scott, letting out a low threatening growl as his pale green eyes darted around the room.

“Stay back,” Deaton warned, trying to keep his voice calm and level. “Scott, get the ketamine.”

Scott moved slowly, edging towards the table with his equipment on it.

The wolf whipped his head around, growling at him.

“Whoa,” Stiles said, taking a step towards his friend defensively.

The wolf turned to look at him, his growl dying away, but his lips still pulled back in a snarl.

“Easy,” Stiles said softly, taking another step towards the wolf. He kept his hands up as he edged closer to the canine. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”

The wolf snapped at him.

Stiles staggered back, his eyes still focused on the wolf; startled but not scared.

“We’re just trying to help you,” Stiles continued.

“You do realise he can’t understand you, right?” Scott said between gritted teeth, making another attempt to subtly reach for the ketamine.

The wolf turned on him, letting out a fierce growl.

Scott backed up, the cold metal edges of the shelving digging into his back as he tried to get as far away as he could.

Stiles took another step forward.

The wolf turned to face him, teeth bared and his eyes glaring at Stiles intensely.

Stiles held his composure, his pulse drumming in his ears and his heart hammering against his ribs.

“It’s okay,” Stiles said, his voice soft. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

The wolf seemed to calm down, straightening his back and raising his ears. He tilted his head slightly, looking at Stiles with curiosity.

Stiles took another step forward, tentatively holding out a hand the way you would to a strange dog.

The wolf sniffed his hand, and – apparently deciding Stiles wasn’t a threat – calmed down. He laid down on the table, resting his head on his front paws as Stiles took another step forward and gently petted the scruff of his neck.

The three of them let out a collective sigh of relief, the tension in the room subsiding as Scott and Deaton watched Stiles pat the wolf.

“Crisis averted,” Deaton started slowly. “Now, onto our next problem.”

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, his heart spiking slightly.

“We don’t have any cages to hold an animal of his size, nor do we have a dog run that we can hold him in,” Deaton said. “But in his state, we can’t release him into the wild yet.”

“I have a dog run,” Stiles volunteered. “My dad used to foster dogs for the K9 unit or retiring army dogs.”

Deaton nodded, watching the way the teen interacted with the canine.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Deaton said. “Perhaps it would be best if you took him in while he recovers.”

“One problem,” Stiles said. “My dad wouldn’t let me have a dog, what makes you think he’ll let me have a _wolf_?”

Stiles sat in the back seat of the car, looking into the back of the four wheel drive where the wolf laid, his head lifted and looking out the window; alert. They’d loosely tied a length of rope around the wolf’s neck and fastened to the back of the car.

Deaton had spoken to the Sheriff and he had agreed to let Stiles bring the wolf home and keep him in the dog run while he recovered.

The car slowed as it pulled up before Stiles’ house.

The wolf perked up, struggling to his feet as he looked out the rear windows.

Scott turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. Stiles followed. They stepped around to the back of the car and opened the back doors.

Stiles untied the rope, gently coaxing the wolf out of the car and onto the pavement. He walked him around to the back gate, pulling up the latch and pushing it open. He led the wolf into the backyard and over to the large fenced off dog run in the corner of the yard.

There was a large kennel in the corner with an old blanket laid across the bottom of it, a sheltered section, a bowl full of water, some trees and shrubs, and a few old dog toys.

Stiles walked the wolf into the dog run, kneeling before him as he untied the length of rope from around his neck. He stepped out of the run and shut the gate, watching as the wolf began to pace around the length of the fence, limping slightly as he inspected his surroundings.

“I’ll buy some food for him – meat, fish, rabbit if I’m lucky – and drop it off after work,” Scott told him.

Stiles nodded, his eyes focused on the wolf and his mind racing.

“What?” Scott asked.

“Wolves are social animals,” Stiles reminded him. “So why was he alone? Where’s his pack?”

“I don’t know,” Scott said quietly. He was silent for a moment. “I’d better get going. You all set?”

“Yeah,” Stiles replied.

Scott patted his shoulder.

“Let me know if anything changes. I’ll see you later,” he farewelled, making his way back out the side gate and shutting it behind himself.

Once he was gone, the wolf seemed to settle—still uneasy, but not pacing. He slowly wandered over to where Stiles stood and looked up at him with inquisitive green eyes.

“There’s something strange about you,” Stiles mused. “I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Stiles backed up, heading towards the back door and making his way inside the house.

The light of day began to fade, the sun lighting the sky with streaks of vibrant colours as it sank beneath the horizon. The icy chill of the autumn breeze rolled through the streets, rustling the trees, stirring the leaves, and frosting over the windows.

The Sheriff was working late; he’d sent Stiles a message saying he was pulling overtime to help with a case and wouldn’t be home until the morning.

Stiles looked at the back door, watching as the window pane misted over. His thoughts drifted to the wolf; he was out there, alone and cold.

“No,” he told himself. “Dad will kill me.”

His eyes wandered back to the door.

He let out a heavy sigh, cursing under his breath as he rose to his feet and headed towards the back door. He grabbed the length of rope from where he’d put it earlier, shoving open the back door and making his way out to the dog run.

The dim light from the back porch lit the yard, stretching as far into the darkness as it could.

The chain link fence rattled as he pulled open the gate, stepping into the run and looking around.

Stiles looked about, trying to find the wolf. He took a few cautious steps forward, craning his neck to look inside the kennel.

There was a low growl, deep and threatening. The light caught the canine’s eyes, making them glow. His lips were curled back, exposing his ivory-white teeth.

“Easy boy,” Stiles said softly, crouching down on the damp grass. “I’m gonna take you inside where it’s warm, okay?”

The growl died away, but the wolf didn’t come out of the kennel.

“Come on, man,” Stiles pleaded. “It’s freezing out here.”

The wolf tentatively stepped forward, looking at Stiles with scepticism.

Stiles looked down at the length of rope in his hands and then back up at the wolf, watching as the creature’s eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and the rope.

“Okay, fine. You don’t have to put the rope on,” Stiles bargained, rising to his feet. “Come on.”

Stiles made his way out of the dog run, leaving the gate open as he led the way to the back porch and up the couple of steps to the back door.

The wolf lingered behind, taking a few steps at a time—cautious. Finally, he gathered the courage to follow Stiles, crossing the back yard and making his way up the steps.

Stiles opened the back door and the wolf stepped inside the house, shaking off the cold dampness of the night air.

“Okay, if you’re going to stay inside, we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules,” Stiles said, looking the wolf in the eye. “Rule number one: don’t chew on the furniture—my dad would kill me if he came home to half eaten chairs and shredded cushions. Rule number two: no peeing on anything. Rule number three: you’re not allowed up on the furniture. And rule number four: upstairs is out of bounds; you have free roam of downstairs, but you’re not allowed upstairs, okay?”

The wolf tilted its head.

“In good faith, I’m just going to assume that you understood me,” Stiles said, stepping past the wolf. “I’m heading off to bed,” he said, switching off the lights. “Please, just… don’t destroy anything while I’m asleep.”

The wolf stayed where he was by the back door.

“Okay,” Stiles said, shifting awkwardly. “Well… Goodnight.”

Stiles made his way upstairs and into his room, leaving the door ajar as he changed out of his clothes and into his pyjamas. He crawled into bed, pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, and reached for the light switch beside his bed when he heard the sound of paws padding at the stairs, growing closer.

“No,” Stiles said warningly.

He rolled over in his bed, watching as the large silhouette of the wolf crept into the opening of his bedroom door, the light reflecting in his eyes as he narrowed his gaze on Stiles.

“That’s terrifying,” Stiles told him, trying to settle his racing heartbeat. “I’m going to have nightmares now.”

The wolf stepped over to the side of his bed, resting his head on the edge of the mattress, almost as if he were asking for permission.

“No,” Stiles said firmly.

The wolf let out a heavy huff, a quiet whimper catching in his throat.

“Ugh, _fine_ ,” Stiles relented. “Come on.”

The wolf climbed up onto the bed, curling up at Stiles’ feet and looking at him with bright aventurine eyes.

“What?” Stiles asked, looking the wolf in the eye. “Penny for my thoughts?”

The wolf tilted his head to one side, his ears perking up with curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sighed, his voice quiet as he dropped his gaze. “I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve been so caught up in my head, trying to work things out.”

The wolf looked at him, listening.

“I’m bisexual,” Stiles said outright. “I haven’t told anyone—I don’t know how to—and I’m… I’m scared to.”

Stiles let out a dejected sigh, bowing his head.

“What’s more… I’m lonely,” he said quietly. “I mean, I have my dad and Scott, but they’re always busy. I end up spending so much time alone and it just reminds me of how lonely I am. Especially when it’s because of a date; it’s just a reminder that I don’t have someone like that in my life. Being bisexual, you’d think I’d have twice the odds, but apparently not… No one wants me.”

The wolf let out a sigh, laying down on the bed and resting his head beside Stiles’ hand.

Stiles reached out and gently petted his head.

“I guess you and I are two of a kind, huh?” Stiles mused. “We’re not meant to be alone, and yet here we are.”

The wolf shifted his head, letting it rest in Stiles’ lap.

A soft smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips as he ran his fingers through the wolf’s soft fur. He lay back against his pillows, switching off the light beside his bed and slipping into sleep.

A broken cry startled him awake.

The wolf sat upright, listening as the quiet, strained whimper filled the darkness.

Stiles thrashed about, his body entangled in his blankets, his cheeks dampened by tears, and his heart hammering against his ribs.

The wolf shuffled forward, resting his head on the boy’s chest.

Stiles started to settle, the tension easing from his body. His breathing slowed and his racing heartbeat calmed down; steady.

He stayed there, watching Stiles for a little while longer; guarding him, protecting him.

He let out a heavy sigh. His eyes grew heavy as he let them fall shut and sleep pulled him under.

Stiles groaned, squinting against the glaring light which streamed through the gap in the curtains. He turned his face into the pillow, letting the soft cotton muffle his groan.

He tried to pull the blanket up over himself but it wouldn’t budge. He tugged harder, only to get a disgruntled huff in response.

He blinked open his eyes, looking at the dark figure that laid its head atop of his chest.

The wolf slowly lifted his head, glaring at Stiles disapprovingly.

“I’m sorry. Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” Stiles said teasingly.

The wolf let out a heavy sigh and seemed to roll his eyes. He turned his head away and yawned before stretching, his paws flexing and kneading the blanket.

Stiles pushed back the blanket and climbed out of bed. He stepped over to his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans, a shirt and a red hoodie. He pulled his jeans on and reached for the hem of his shirt when he froze. He glanced over his shoulder at the wolf.

“I know you’re a wolf and all, but can you not watch me get changed?” Stiles asked.

The wolf let out a huff and turned his head away, letting it rest atop his front paws as he stared out the window.

Stiles got changed quickly and made a start towards the door.

“Come on,” he said softly.

The wolf followed him, climbing down from the bed. He let out a quiet whimper as he set down his wounded leg.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, slightly panicked. “Does it hurt? Do I need to call Scott?”

The wolf levelled him with an exasperated look, stretching his leg slightly and testing how much weight it could bare. He took a few steps forward, limping slightly as but showing no sign of pain.

“Okay,” Stiles said, leading the way to the door.

He headed downstairs, watching as the wolf carefully padded his way down behind him. He stepped through the large open doorway that led to the dining room, looking through the other doorway into the kitchen.

The Sheriff heard his footsteps, turning to look at his son. His weary hazel eyes fell upon the dark figure that followed Stiles.

“What the—?” the Sheriff yelped.

The wolf bounded forward, putting himself between Stiles and the Sheriff. He let out a feral growl, baring his teeth in a vicious snarl as he readied himself to fight.

“Whoa,” Stiles shouted, stepping between the two of them. He lowered his voice to a quiet whisper. “It’s okay.”

They waited for the wolf to calm down, straightening his back and standing proud.

“I thought you said he’d be in the dog run,” his dad said, voice tense.

“It got cold,” Stiles offered sheepishly.

“He’s a _wolf_ , Stiles,” his father replied. “He’s used to the elements.”

“But he’s injured,” Stiles added.

Sheriff Stilinski let out an exasperated groan and dragged his hand down his weary face. “I should have known you’d bring him home with a bleeding heart.”

The Sheriff shook his head.

“How long did Deaton say it would take for him to heal?” the Sheriff asked.

“A few weeks.”

“He can’t stay inside, Stiles,” his dad said softly. “He’s not domesticated and he needs to keep up his natural instincts.”

“I know,” Stiles said quietly, bowing his head.

The Sheriff let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he offered. “He can stay inside on cold nights, but he stays out in the dog run the rest of the time, deal?”

“Deal,” Stiles agreed.

A few weeks passed.

The wolf spent most nights curled up on the floor beside Stiles’ bed or at his feet. He would sit and listen as Stiles opened up and told him his secrets, and he would comfort him whenever the young man was troubled by nightmares.

But finally the day came that the wolf had to be released.

Scott removed the stitches and checked the canine over.

“He’s in perfect condition,” Scott said proudly.

Stiles nodded solemnly.

“Come on, boy,” Stiles said, tying the old length of rope around the wolf’s neck and leading him out to Scott’s four wheel drive.

He encouraged the wolf into the back, tying off the rope before stepping around the side of the car and climbing into the back seat.

They drove out to the reserve.

Stiles let out a saddened sigh as he untied the rope from the wolf’s neck and stepped back.

The wolf climbed out of the car, lingering for a moment before stepping into the woods and disappearing.

Stiles watched him go, his heart aching as the dark silhouette disappeared into the trees.

Scott gently patted Stiles’ shoulder, not saying a word as they climbed back into the car and drove home.

Stiles nudged open the front door, shutting it behind himself and dropping his keys on the table by the door.

A loud bark broke the silence.

Stiles jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. He followed the sound down the hallway and pushed opened the back door, stepping out onto the porch as he looked at the dark figure that stood in his backyard watching him with bright green eyes.

The wolf.

“You can’t be here, bud,” Stiles said, his heart aching. “You have to go.”

The wolf stepped forward, his body changing as he moved; he rose onto his hind legs, his dark fur morphing into tan skin as he stood tall.

He stood before Stiles; a man with thick black hair and a soft beard that cast a shadow across his jaw. His pale aventurine eyes were focused on Stiles, the light of the evening playing in his irises, changing them from green to blue and hazel. There was a pale scar across his leg.

He was human.

Stiles swallowed hard. “You’re, um…”

“A werewolf,” the man confirmed.

“I was going to say ‘naked’, but yeah. Hang on.”

Stiles raced inside and came back out with a change of clothes. He tossed them to the man.

“Thank you,” the man said quietly, dressing quickly. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“It was Scott and Deaton who patched you up,” Stiles said.

“Perhaps, but it was you who found me, who refused to give up on me, who looked after me,” the man replied. “You helped me remember how to be human.”

“What do you mean helped you remember?” Stiles asked.

“A long time ago, I shifted and ran as far away as I could,” the man explained. “I spent so long shifted, though, that I forgot how to change back.”

The man bowed his head for a second.

“I was running for so long, I forgot what it felt like to be human. You reminded me what that felt like.”

“Wait, does that mean that you understood everything I said?” Stiles asked, a hint of panic in his voice. “Everything I told you?”

The man nodded.

“Oh,” Stiles said, an uneasy feeling of embarrassment settling in to his chest.

“You said it yourself,” the man said, taking a step forward. “We’re two of a kind. We’re not meant to be alone, and yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” Stiles repeated quietly.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, summoning up the last flicker of courage he had.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stiles admitted. “You were the first person I ever felt like I could talk to, the first person I felt comfortable enough to be myself around. I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” the man admitted.

Stiles met his gaze.

“I’m Derek,” he introduced himself.

“It’s nice to meet you, Derek."

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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